


Peacemakers

by Varaen



Series: Ondotári AU [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Elves, Fantastic Racism, Fix-It, GFY, Gen, Gondolin, I hate the piped tags but I hate the Sindarin names more, Tags updated as I write, Tons of OCs, War of Wrath, We will all suffer together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varaen/pseuds/Varaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elenwë survived the crossing of the Helcaraxë, barely. The consequences of her survival snowball through the ages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ondotári](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6535381) by [Varaen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varaen/pseuds/Varaen). 



> The first chapter is 99% the same as my #5 fill for LLA, Ondotári, except for one name change that is explained in the second chapter, so if you read Ondotári, you can skip right to chapter 2.  
> The idea ran away with me, but the story turned out incompatible with the rules for LLA, so I'm posting it seperately.

Lómion always listened fascinated whenever his mother had the opportunity to tell him of her youth in Valinor, or of the hidden city Ondolindë, Gondolin in the Sindar tongue, where her brother Turukáno reigned as king. It was so very different from the dark woods of Nan Elmoth, that were all the little elfling knew. Even after his father Eöl named him Maeglin and begun to take greater interest in his son, little Lómion strayed back to his mother, and the stories he loved. Nonetheless, he traveled far with Eöl whenever he went to trade with the dwarves and learned many skills from all of them, of forging, prospecting and smelting, and even the secret of his alloy galvorn did Eöl teach him.

He witnessed his mother grow more and more restless under the strict rules his father imposed on his wife. Drawing the parallels to the restrictions that had driven her out of Gondolin, he cautioned Eöl to let her travel more freely and maybe visit her relatives, but his advice went unheard. While her love for her husband never waned, her tolerance for his quirks that had once been so endearing to her dwindled. One day, after Eöl had left again, Lómion urged her to leave with him. He was anxious to meet the relatives he only knew from his mother’s stories, and to see his mother smile again.

Their flight went unnoticed, as Lómion led them along the hidden forest paths he had found when playing alone and never shown his parents, and later, Irissë led the way along the northern edge of Doriath, backtracking the way she had come almost a hundred years before. Lómion, fearful of his father’s pursuit, convinced her to leave the horses behind in the woods, so that their hoofprints or neighing may not lead him after them. The footprints of two elves were easily hidden between the tracks of border patrols and animal migration.

They reached the first hidden gate by sunrise. Irissë was welcomed back with great joy. The guards implored her to go and meet with her brother immediately, for she had been greatly missed, and long had the king and queen worried for her safety after she vanished. She hurried to the central tower, eager to reconvene with her dearest brother and law-sister.

The king and queen of Ondolindë were a study in opposites. He wore long robes of deep blue that shimmered with woven patterns in slightly paler hues. At his wrists, Lómion could glimpse several layers of lighter blue below. Lómion was reminded of the old white dress his mother had shown him sometimes, the only possession except for her bow she had left that predated her marriage. The king’s dark hair was crowned with a circlet of silver and gold entwined.

At his side, the queen seemed pale and ghostly, although her skin was a tanned gold to her husband’s pale complexion. Her golden locks tumbled freely over her shoulders, held back from her face by a golden diadem. Her long white dress was plain and unadorned, except for the voluminous white fur she had draped around her shoulders.

The royal couple was flanked by two elves that seemed like distorted mirror images or each other: A woman in a shimmering green gown, and a man in a plain white skirt and sleeveless tunic, both crowned with the radiant golden-blonde hair of the Vanyar. Lómion recognized them to be his cousins, Itarillë, called Idril Celebrindal the silverfooted for her habit to walk about barefoot, and her young brother Artanáro, who had been born in Gondolin.

His idle musing was interrupted by the queen, who rose with a shout and ran to embrace his mother.

“Irissë!”

“Elenwë!”

Encased in Irissë’s arms as she was, the queen seemed even more slight and fragile than from afar. Lómion knew the tale of her narrow brush with death during the crossing of the Helcaraxë, although his mother had been reluctant to tell him much of the grimmer parts of her past. It was obvious that Elenwë had never completely recovered.

“This is my son, Lómion.”

His bow was interrupted halfway through, as his aunt embraced him as well.

“Welcome home, dear nephew.”

 

* * *

 

Irissë fit back into her old life almost as if she never had been gone. She missed Eöl at times, but mostly, his paranoid rules and restrictions had taught her to appreciate the small freedoms she had in Gondolin. She rode out between the fields and pastures that lay between the hidden city and the surrounding mountains, and was content, for she had an increased esteem for the safety they provided after surviving the dark forests north of Doriath.

Lómion thrived in the city that had once stifled his mother. The forgemasters appreciated the skills he had learned at his father’s feet, and he shared everything with them, except for the secret techniques the dwarves had entrusted him with. A lot of his time was spent in the forges with the artisans, except for the times when one of his cousins dragged him out into the sunlight. He had grown close to both of them, but even his newfound friends struggled to rid him of his aversion, having experienced such brightness only rarely, and only from the shadowy shelter of the trees. So distinctive were his habits that use of his childhood nickname soon spread to his whole family, and later to the other inhabitants of the city. Even after years, he still preferred hooded cloaks as part of his daily wear. His aunt and uncle loved their little mole also, and became like a second set of parents to him.

 

* * *

 

Elenwë had trained falcons, that were often sent to the other Lords of the Noldor with messages. As such, they received small groups of refugees after the Battle of Sudden Flame and the death of her law-father, as many as could be hidden from the minions of Morgoth.

Likewise, during the battle that later became known as the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, the reinforcements from Gondolin were no surprise to Findekáno, who had arranged their arrival with his brother, their king. The Gondolindrim charged the field under the lead of their king and princes, to the great surprise of the Dark Lord, whose spies had not been privy to the secret council of the High King and his brother. Nonetheless, the battle failed to achieve the intentions of the Union of Maedhros. The Noldor lost their second High King in as many decades, and even though many creatures of Morgoth were slain by the combined forces of Elves, Dwarves and Men, by the treachery of Men, the battle was lost and the armies had to retreat back into their fortresses.

 

* * *

 

They had been watching the hooded strangers traverse the fields for hours. Artanáro doubted that they were refugees, because those always came in larger groups and there were only two beings on the path. Itarillë and Lómion were more interested in guessing whether the smaller of the two was a young elf, or an adult Man.

When the travelers were led into the throne room, they were revealed as Voronwë, a messenger that Turukáno had endeavoured to send to Valinor, in the company of Tuor, a man of the House of Hador. They announced that they had been sent by the Vala Ulmo with a warning, to remind him of the transience of his hidden stronghold.

Although Turukáno had grown proud and held great confidence in his fortifications and the secrecy that surrounded Gondolin, Elenwë cautioned him to heed the guidance of the Vala, and in secret, escape tunnels were built, places of refuge were scouted and over the years, the exodus of the Gondolindrim occured.

Tuor however grew close to the children of Turukáno and their cousin, especially Itarillë, with whom he fell in love later. And so it came to pass that seven years after his arrival in Gondolin, Tuor wed Itarillë, princess of the Noldor. And so the second great union of Eldar and Edain came to pass. Their son Eärendil had his mother’s golden hair and his father’s green eyes, and incorporated in him were the greatest traits of his ancestors.

When Eärendil was still a child, Morgoth discovered the location of Gondolin at last. With fire and smoke, the dragons and Balrogs of Morgoth led the assault, and behind them came an army of orcs to raze the city. Evacuation proceeded smoothly, still many died that day, chief among them Turukáno, who fell covering the escape of his family.


	2. Chapter 2

 At last, the survivors of the sack of Gondolin came to dwell at the Havens of Sirion. There, the remnants of the Sindar of Doriath under the leadership of their child-queen Elwing, daughter of Dior, mixed freely with refugees from Nargothrond and those Falathrim that preferred the coast to the isle of Balar. It reminded Elenwë of the early times in Gondolin, before the culture of the Sindar of Nevrast had fully merged with the Noldor. The greatest difference was the prevalence of Sindarin, whereas the Gondolindrim had employed a colourful blend of Sindarin as well as Vanyarin and Noldorin Quenya.

Elenwë reminded her people of the edict of Elu Thingol, and reluctantly, they restricted themselves to the Northern Sindarin of Nevrast in public, mostly out of pity for the small child-queen, that seemed even more frail than Elenwë. Another important change was not as easily decided.

“You should be queen, mother. Now that father is dead, the Noldor need a new leader. Maybe it is time for a High Queen instead of a High King,” Artanáro implored.

“I am Minya, my dear son. And even if you choose to ignore it, I can not, and many Noldor will not. Even with the city in ruins, I will remain queen of Gondolin, and to all who wish to see me as such. But look to your sister if you wish to crown a High Queen.”

But Itarillë was just as reluctant. Eärendil was very young still, and she did not want to neglect him because of overwhelming duties. Moreover, she feared that many Eldar would refuse to respect her, married as she was to a mortal. And so it came to pass that Artanáro became the sixth High King of the Noldor in Beleriand, and he took the name Gil-Galad, star of radiance, to honour the mother and sister who had raised him, and who had renounced their claim in order to make him king.

 

* * *

 

For a time, the remaining descendants of Finwë in Beleriand came to dwell in the house of Elenwë, even if Tyelperinquar had to be dragged from the forges where Lómion found him, hiding since the sack of Nargothrond. Artanis with her Sindar husband Celeborn had been among the refugees from Doriath. Elwing was a frequent guest, visiting her cousins, and later becoming a playmate to Eärendil.

Life was happy at the havens. Under Tuor’s and Itarillë’s influence, tensions between Eldar and Edain decreased. Eärendil grew tall and strong, and under the tutelage of Círdan he learned much of shipbuilding, sailing and all matters of the sea. It was there he met Gilmith, whom he later took as his wife.

Tyelperinquar and Lómion dedicated their skills to the defense of Sirion, spending much of their time in the forges, and the rest in council with Elwing and her advisors, or their kin, and all kinds of people of varying importance. When she grew to adulthood, they recognized the beauty of her ancestors in her, and the wisdom she had gained, and courted her to become their wife. Lómion built them a great house with the stonecraft he learned from the dwarves, and Tyelperinquar wrought the furniture himself. Elwing was exempt from household duties, considering she was the busiest of the three with other duties. Her consorts cared well for her, and she soon bore children, twin sons that were named Elros and Elrond, for their eyes shone as bright as the stars.

It was at that time that rumors reached the last surviving sons of Fëanor, Maitimo, Makalaurë and the Ambarussar, that the Silmaril of Lúthien and Beren was in Sirion, held by their granddaughter. Elwing had worn it around her neck for their wedding feast, resplendent in the preserved treelight. Furious letters arrived for the exiled queen of Doriath, demanding she hand over their father’s masterwork. The letters ceased when Tyelperinquar wrote an equally furious response, commanding his uncles stop attempting to take away his sons’ favourite toy. Instead, the next envoy arrived bearing gifts, a small lute and flute, carved with matching patterns of twisted vines, and a handwoven blanket that Tyelperinquar recognized as his own, the one his father had lovingly wrapped him in whenever he missed his mother aboard the ships and later. It was as much of an apology as he would get from his uncles, he supposed.

Soon after, followers of the sons of Fëanor began trickling into Sirion. Most of them were of Telerin or mixed descent, more craftspeople than warriors, and all of them swore allegiance to the Queen or the High King as well as an oath that they had not been involved in kinslaying. Some bore missives, explaining the reasoning of their leaders: They held the oath fulfilled by their nephew’s children and chose to concentrate on the threat of Morgoth and the two Silmaril still in his possession. In order not to disturb the peace of Sirion, they would keep those followers that were not welcome among the Sindar and release all others from their service.

It was time, more than anything the Fëanarions did, that convinced Tyelperinquar of their sincerity. He knew their devious minds and the oath that drove them, and he was certain that they would not be able to remain this calm if their apparent change of heart were only a deception. He finally chose to convince his cousin, the king, to negotiate with the outcast princes, in order to better organize the war against their common foe.

In the uproar that followed, the disappearance of Eärendil and Gilmith went almost unnoticed. His parents had sailed west a few years before, drawn by their sea-longing and Tuor’s advanced age and driven by the threat of Morgoth’s encroaching army, hopeful that the Valar may grant them succor at last. No response ever reached the eastern shores, and Eärendil began roaming the seas with his wife and children, seeking the Straight Road himself. They strayed from Sirion for months at a time, but after the reconciliation of the House of Fëanor, they managed to sail further west than ever before. After months at sea, the isle of Tol Eressëa finally appeared on the horizon. Eärendil climbed the stairs of Tirion and pleaded his case in front of all elven kings of Valinor and the Valar. They were moved by his account and the first signs of reconciliation he reported, and a great army was mustered to bring Morgoth’s dominion to an end.

 

* * *

 

The final siege and destruction of Angband went down in history as the War of Wrath, and it was indeed with great wrath that the elves poured forth from Valinor. The host was about as diverse as it could be. There were battalions of spear-wielding Vanyar under the leadership of Ingwion, son of Ingwë, legions of sword-bearing Noldor led by Arafinwë himself and squads of Falmari archers, led by the queen-princess Eärwen. They were accompanied by smaller groups of elves that had perished and had since recuperated and been reembodied, eager to bring the one to justice who was responsible for their demise or the death of their kin. The elvish warriors were accompanied by a great number of Maiar under the leadership of Eönwë, who was herald to Manwë and who would help direct all forces to where they were needed while the Valar laid siege to Angband and the powers within.

Their arrival was unexpected, but not untimely. They had been escorted through the bay of Balar to land at the shore west of the mouths of Sirion, and from there to a residence close to the center of the settlement.

“The council is in session, but you can go join them. Lords, Lady.”

Bewildered, they stood before the large double door. The guide had spoken in accented, but impeccable Noldorin Quenya, but her clothes, armor and weapons did not resemble any style they knew from Valinor, least of all the Falmari whose colouring she had. She went on to open the doors and waited for them to enter. The scene that awaited them within was just as peculiar as the woman, who had followed them inside and shut the door behind her. There was a large table in the middle of the room, and around it stood fifteen high-backed chairs, although only two were occupied. Arafinwë barely recognized Elenwë in the chair closer to the table. On the other sat a pair of adolescents, twins that were avidly watching the goings-on in the room. Their guide was half of another set of twins, distinguishable from each other only by the darker shade of silver hair her sister had. The other five elves in the room were unfamiliar, although he spotted a certain family resemblance among some of them. The blonde elf leaning over the table straightened and turned.

“Ah, Kalanae, you brought our guests. Thank you. We were waiting on you to begin.”

The woman nodded and went to stand beside her sister.

“Mother? I think you know everyone. Would you please take over introductions?”

Elenwë rose with a smile. It was only then that Arafinwë noticed just how thin and frail she was. Clutching her fur shawl around her with one hand, she set the other on her son’s shoulder.

“My son, Artanáro Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor in Beleriand, meet your father’s uncle Arafinwë, High King of the Noldor in Valinor, and his wife Eärwen, princess of the Falmari.”

She paused for a moment, giving them time to appreciate the irony.

“Then we have Ingwion of the Vanyar and Eönwë, the herald of Manwë. You have already met Kalanae. She and her sister Nalarae are here as envoys from the scouts of Taur-Im-Duinath and Ossiriand, who provide us with reports on the enemy’s movements. Círdan speaks for the Falathrim. Elwing, queen-in-exile of Doriath with her consorts Celebrimbor and Mornion. You have already seen their twin sons, Elros and Elrond.”

Judging by their colouring, the queen and her consorts might as well have been siblings. They shared the same raven-black hair, but where her husbands were pale, Elwing’s skin was as dark as a Teler could possibly be, similar to Círdan and the twin scouts. Both men had a very Finwëan cast to their profile, but what kind of names were ‘Celebrimbor’ and ‘Mornion’ anyway? Arafinwë could not begin to fathom what they are supposed to mean, although he had been warned about the strange dialect that was prevalent in Endor by those who had more contact with the reembodied Moriquendi. As he puzzled about his kinship to those two strangers, the others in the room moved about so that everyone could see the big map that was laid out on the table. One of the twin scouts moved to make her report, moving token over the map to indicate troop movements, while her sister whispered into Círdan’s ear. Further away, Mornion was leaning over to Elwing and whispering into her ear as well. Only then did he realize that they had been speaking Quenya all the time, obviously because except for those two, everyone was capable of understanding it. He shuddered to think of the communication problems that may yet arise during this campaign due to the language barrier.

“The orcs are numerous, but complacent. The Andram and the river Gelion are well defended. We managed to secure Ossiriand up to the dwarf-road and reestablish trade with Nogrod and Belegost, but Thargelion and the plains north of Andram are too vast and an ambush too probable. The dwarves will grant safe passage to the east, and the general implores you to evacuate children and civilians, either by way of the mountains or to the south. Our scouts stand ready to guide you.”

“Thank you. I will tell Galadriel and Celeborn that they can send the first groups. She made a list with some of you, I believe?”

There were nods all around the table as Nalarae went to stand by her sister’s side and Celebrimbor took her place in the middle.

“The forges are working at peak efficiency. We have a good supply of iron, steel and galvorn, and as far as I know, everyone trained has received weapons and armor. Which only leaves one thing.”

Arafinwë was taken aback when the elf approached him.

“May I see your sword?”

Nonplussed, he drew his sword and handed it over at the encouraging gesture of Elenwë. Celebrimbor inspected the weapon thoroughly before returning it.

“The blacksmiths of Valinor certainly have improved in the last six hundred years. Good. I was afraid we would have to equip your army as well,” he remarked with a familiar smirk, and only then did Arafinwë notice the gleam of treelight in his eyes that was absent from the eyes of the other strangers.

“Tyelperinquar?” he could not help but whisper, and received a faint nod in return. Before he could express his joy properly, Celebrimbor, no _Tyelperinquar_ , gestured for silence.

“We will have time for reunions later. First, we need to ensure that your soldiers don’t make camp at the wrong place. You will need translators, but that can be settled later.”

A rapid and incomprehensible conversation between Celebrimbor, Círdan and Elwing ensued, at whose end one of the twin sons approached him.

“Elros will show you where you can stay for now. You are welcome to join us for dinner, all three of you. Elros will guide you back. We can make further plans then, or tomorrow, when you are properly settled.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extensive, rambling and slightly spoilery author's note at the end of the chapter.

Elros was a very efficient, if surly and taciturn young man. Arafinwë caught him muttering under his breath that ‘Elrond always got the fun errands’, which explained his attitude a great deal. The camp was quickly set out, and since there was little left to do for the commanders, Elros led them back to the Havens.

“You should consider learning Sindarin. Mother insists on the ban on Quenya, since it’s one of the few things she has left of her ancestors aside from stories. Elrond and I were only allowed because Elenwë insisted it was not just a language of Kinslayers and taught us herself.”

Well that explained why the boy sounded like a Vanya although looking nothing like one. Arafinwë had the feeling he was slowly making sense of the strange elves of Endórë.

“Speaking of family, did the Lady Melyanna come?”

The hopeful look directed to Eönwë confused Arafinwë anew.

“No, little one. She has returned to Lórien and refuses to leave. There are too many painful memories here.”

“Elwë had not been reembodied yet, then. Well, I don’t think anyone expected that to happen this soon.”

Elros sounded equally resigned and heartbroken. Eärwen on the other hand was stunned.

“My uncle is dead?”

Her surprise seemed to surprise Elros in turn.

“You are the daughter of Olwë. I did not make the connection. Your Uncle had been dead for almost fifty years. Did you not learn about what was happening here?”

“No, nothing, except for the account Eärendil gave to convince the Valar to help.”

“Well, that makes some things easier. And a lot of things a lot harder. No matter, we’re there.”

His dry tone was reminiscent of Fëanáro at his most sarcastic mood. They had arrived at a different house that was only a little smaller, with an architecture that was less evocative of Tirion.

“Come, we can wait in the drawing room and see who has already arrived.”

Arafinwë could see the adolescent’s mood lift as he pricked up his ears and ran the last few steps.

“Thranduil! Dan tholl! Thranduil, you came back!”

“And you’re still here, little cousin. Have you been good while I was gone?” Thranduil took care to properly muss Elros’ hair, who attempted to settle it with a resigned sigh.

“Cousin? Will you not introduce us?”

At that question, Elros broke down into hysterical laughter, to the concern of everyone in the room.

“I just realized,” he explained in between heaving breaths. “Since you are my cousins, and they are my cousins… Dinner today will be one big family reunion!” That was all he managed to say before he had to sit down, giggling breathlessly.

Eärwen and Arafinwë turned to Eönwë, since their translator was incapacitated, when they were sidetracked by approaching elves, arguing in that same strange dialect.

“- understand, I really do. I don’t want to go north and east, either. Oropher will lead the caravans south, where he has already scouted, and we will follow with the last refugees, my love. There is much to be done yet before I can go. And you know Elwing would be lost without you.”

“She listens more to her Golodh bedwarmers nowadays,” was the gruff reply.

“Celeborn, don’t be crass. What has you in such a bad mood?”

“You heard what Elrond said. The armies from Valinor arrived, led by another Golodh. I just hope he has better manners than your awful cousins.”

“Well, I never! At least  _pretend_  to be the civilized prince I know you can be.”

They heard her huff before she threw open the doors, stalking into the room to throw herself onto the settee, oblivious to the people in the room.

“Oropher, please tell me you’re in a better mood than my husband.”

Only then did she look around the room.

“What happened to Elros? And who- Atya? Ammë?”

As quickly as Artanis had sprawled across the settee, she moved over to her parents, enfolding them in a three-way hug.

“You are leading the forces of Valinor? I missed you so. And my Lord Eönwë. Prince Ingwion.” She greeted them with a bow after disentangling from the embrace. “You are most welcome.”

In the meantime, Elros had recovered from his gigglefit and tried to regain his composure as Artanis invited her parents and the other two to sit.

“Atya, Ammë, I would like to introduce you to my husband Celeborn, Prince of Doriath.” Her facial expression was forbidding any criticism in her choice of husband. Celeborn had the same wavy hair as Artanis, but dark silver with a pale blonde tint rather than the rich gold shot with silver of his wife. His skin was a dark like polished mahogany, only a shade or two paler than Elwing and her sons and his aquiline nose reminded Arafinwë of his own wife.

“It is an honour to meet you,” Celeborn said with a lilting accent.

“As well as Oropher, Prince of Doriath and his son Thranduil,” Artanis continued. The second prince of Doriath, wherever that was supposed to be, was overall paler than his kinsman, and his son even more so, with white blonde rather than silver hair and a russet complexion. They only nodded when she mentioned their names, betraying either their ignorance of Quenya or their disregard for proper protocol.

“And now Elros will explain what had him so out of sorts,” Artanis commanded with a stern voice Arafinwë recognized as an imitation of his own mother. It worked flawlessly.

“Well, Ada and Nana and you and uncle Celeborn and uncle Oropher are all cousins, and Atya, Ada, uncle Gil-Galad and you are all cousins, too. And with your parents here now, dinner will be a family reunion. Especially since aunt Kalanae and aunt Nalarae will be there, too. The coincidence is funny. Even Eönwë is a little bit like an uncle,” he finished with a broad grin.

Well, that explained the abundant similarities he had witnessed among his hosts. How the woodfolk twin scouts factored in, Arafinwë was still not sure, and he was in no hurry to find out. They all had greater problems to worry about.

“It is not much of a coincidence, little one,” Artanis disagreed. “Elenwë gathered us descendants of Finwë on purpose, to give us a purpose, even if we have to drag your fathers from the forges more often than not. And Elwë’s kin gathered to support your mother as much as they can, you know that. Don’t try to read too much into circumstances, more often than not, things are the way they are because someone made them so.”

There were meaningful glances exchanged around him, which Arafinwë mentally added to his list of weird things the elves of Beleriand did. He had still not lost hope that some of those mannerisms would make sense one day. His contemplation was interrupted by Elrond running in to fetch them for dinner. The twins led the throng into the same room where the meeting had taken place earlier, one lauding the dishes he had seen or smelled while the other listened with increasing anticipation.

The hall looked very changed from the war council. Three stools of different make had joined the high-backed chairs around the table, which was cleaned of maps and missives and instead bore plates and cutlery of gleaming white porcelain and silver. Elwing was sitting at the head of the table with Círdan to her left, deep in conversation. Further down sat the twin scouts with Elenwë and Irissë, which prompted Arafinwë to take a closer look, as he had barely recognized her. The table was already weighed down with serving bowls and platters, but just after the group entered Gil-Galad, Tyelperinquar and Mornion carrying even more dishes. 

Elrond directed them to their places, following some arcane plan that had Arafinwë sit between his wife and his niece, far away from the Teleri of Beleriand. The intention became clear to him as the meal progressed, conversation flowing freely and incomprehensibly around him. Slowly, he realized that learning this strange dialect was inevitable.

“Irissë, can you help me learn this dialect everyone is speaking here? I doubt a translator will be sufficient in the long run.”

Irissë sighed, taking the time to serve herself another scoop of the strange stew he had eyed suspiciously throughout the whole meal.

“I don’t know if any physical copies survived the Dagor Bragollach, sorry, the Battle of Sudden Flame, but Fëanáro compiled concise lists of etymologies as well as comparative phonetics and grammar changes that were continued by his sons after his death and later shared when we reached Beleriand. Those were very useful, even considering that they only covered Northern Sindarin. I will ask around, maybe someone has an updated version for Doriathren or Falathren, but we can write it down from memory if necessary. In the meantime, Quendingoldo should be able to tide you over with some Gondolin dialect basics.”

All those strange designations were confusing, and as if that was not bad enough, there were several dialects among this dialect. Had those Teleri nothing better to do than to mess up their own language? Arafinwë was ready to lay down his head and call it a day when Irissë shouted something incomprehensible across the table. She received an answer a few moments later that made everyone except him and his wife laugh. He could even see Eönwë suppressing an amused grin.

“Your primer should arrive tomorrow,” Irissë translated with a grin of her own.

“Thank you,” was his prim and only reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on, language issues become important. I feel that it will be annoying to read in the long run if I have to write out every language change every two or three sentences, so I will try to indicate the switches by throwing in individual words in the respective languages, like Noldo/Golodh, ammë/nana (mum), atya/ada (dad), meldenya/meldonya/mellon-nin (my friend). If that does not work for you, is too confusing or not clear enough, please tell me, because I have no idea how to solve this differently.
> 
> At the same time, names will be indicative of perspective (and sometimes, language). Those freshly arrived from Valinor will be using Quenya names (Arafinwë for example is unlikely to think of himself as Finarfin anytime soon, and while Galadriel prefers that name by now, especially since it’s a title/endearment her beloved husband bestowed upon her, her parents are unlikely to call her anything but Artanis), while the Sindar will stick to the sindarized Versions. The Noldor of Beleriand will be using a mix of both, depending on who is speaking, who they are speaking to and about whom they are talking.
> 
> Warning: Arafinwë is a very ‘proper’ Noldo and will say things that are racist, classist, sexist, elitist or otherwise derogatory. That he differs in that from the other Noldor we met in this story is simply because they had time to learn better. I have to admit I kinda like his condescending POV because I imagine the Sindar hearing him and thinking ‘who thought it was a good idea to make this jerk king?’ and the Noldor in Beleriand are like ‘were we really that bad? Oh noez, we were #( *hides in shame*’.


	4. Chapter 4

The explanation for the elated laughter at dinner arrived late the following morning during another meeting. An enormous hawk swooped in through a window with a shriek, landing on the outstretched arm of Kalanae. Tied to its feet was a scroll case that her sister hastened to remove while she petted the bird and talked to it. The animal seemed to respond, and while Arafinwë wondered where a Moriquendë could have learned the language of birds, she threw her arm up and the hawk departed with another shriek. The main contents of the scroll case turned out to be one tightly rolled scroll filled with cramped handwriting. It was indeed a primer, bilingual and with two different scripts, Tengwar and another, angular and unaesthetic, that Arafinwë did not recognize. Judging by the word choice and the cute illustrations, it was indeed for small children learning their letters.

“Be careful with that one, it’s almost a family heirloom. You may of course make copies,” the impudent scout said after she handed him the paper. She gave another, smaller scroll to Gil-Galad that was decorated with colourful ribbons and finally shook the case until a small piece of carved wood fell out.

“What do you think, sister, your husband or mine?”

“That depends on what it’s supposed to represent.” Both giggled.

“How long do you think it will take for them to realize that Elros and Elrond have already outgrown the stage of childhood when they were inseparable from their carved animal toys?”

“Probably not until they have children of their own. Don’t you remember their reaction to the twins?”

Now, almost half of war council was laughing, once again amused by a reference to something unknown to Arafinwë. It was getting tedious. He wondered what it was about this strange land that had changed the people that were once familiar so much, chief amongst them his own daughter.

There were many people missing from the council that he had expected to come, or at least send an envoy, but after the introduction of a boy who had not even been born in Valinor as ‘High King of the Noldor in Beleriand’ and the offhand mention of Fëanáro’s death, he wondered how many of his siblings, nieces and nephews were even still alive. The boy Eärendil had mentioned a multitude of fallen realms, but Arafinwë had failed to immediately make the mental leap to a multitude of fallen elves, nobles and commoners alike.

In his imagination, this war against Moringotto had seemed like one big hunting trip, for lack of anything else to compare it to. He had expected to be greeted by his brothers and the one sister that had accompanied them upon arrival, followed by his children and his sibling’s children. He would then meet with Eärwen’s uncle and together they would strike out against the evil. He should have realized the error of his thought when Elros had revealed that his mother Elwing was the oldest living descendant of Elwë, namely his great-granddaughter. But least of all had he expected this many meetings beforehand, dealing with minutiae he himself considered the purview of administrators and secretaries.

Equally unhappy was he when he realized that, while Artanis was very busy organizing the evacuation of the civilian population, she had no intention to follow them to safety herself.

 

* * *

 

Weeks passed, as the Havens of Sirion and the Isle of Balar slowly emptied of children and all those adults that had no outstanding fighting skills. Among the last to leave was Elwing herself, accompanied by her sons. The evening before, there had been a great banquet to frame the elaborate ceremonies that saw Elwing grant stewardship over the Sindar to her uncle Celeborn, and command of their armed forces to her cousin Oropher. At the same time, Gil-Galad named Elenwë his representative among the fleeing civilians, ensuring that the Noldor had a figure of authority to turn to, and that his mother went to safety at all, insistent as she was to stay with him.

Arafinwë’s grasp on Sindarin improved steadily, as did his understanding of the intricate web of relations that connected the rulers of Beleriand. Thus, it became increasingly obvious to him that they were actively hiding information from him. There was the general Kalanae and Nalarae mentioned regularly, but never by name, as well as his closest advisors, referred to only as the Lindangû in their language, yet another strange offshoot of the Telerin dialect, and the husbands of the envoys themselves, who were likewise never named in his presence.

It was grating on his nerves, but there was little he could do beyond asking and receiving bland looks and answers in the vein of ‘why, the general is the general, of course’ again and again. But at least the planning progressed smoothly as far as possible, despite the sometimes complicated communication channels. They would push the forces of Morgoth north in a tri-pronged advance, encircling Angband and cutting off any escape routes. Arafinwë was relieved that the Host of the Valar would march unified in the middle, while the native forces were to secure the flanks in territories they were most familiar with. Only in the wasteland of Anfauglith would the armies reunite to lay siege to Angband.

 

* * *

 

He had not expected that crossing one small continent would take so long. Arafinwë had seen more creatures of Morgoth than he ever wanted to, and way more death than anyone should have to. Unknowingly following the example of his older brothers, he led the army from the frontlines, standing together with the common soldiers.

Anfauglith was a poisoned desert, barren and tainted by the fumes that emerged from Angband. Arafinwë took it upon himself to provide a large and comfortable tent for all leaders to meet in, furnished with low tables and cushions in the way of the Noldor. He had invited them all, determined to finally meet those who had eluded him for years.

The others arrived mostly in pairs. From the west came Círdan with Gil-Galad, Oropher and Thranduil as well as Celeborn and Artanis. Irissë had gone east with Mornion, Tyelperinquar and the other half of the Noldorin forces. He could hear them approaching, a far larger group than what he had expected, and threw a questioning glance, first at Eärwen, and then at Artanis, hoping that one of them might explain. The western contingent seemed entirely unsurprised by the vocal entrance, but refused to tell him anything.

“- reminded of Mereth Aderthad?”

“Fine by me if the siege that follows will not last as long.”

“Let us hope it ends differently, too!”

“There is no need to hope for that. We are better prepared this time, and not sitting idle in our fortresses, waiting for something to happen.”

“Just imagine Fingolfin sitting in Barad Eithel, looking out over Ard-Galen and twiddling his thumbs.”

Boisterous laughter followed that description, and the group poured into the tent. Arafinwë knew about half of them from the Havens, and the others were strangely familiar, although he could not place them. Only when the last of them had entered and pulled the tent flap shut behind herself did he make the connection. The sons of Fëanáro had changed, and not for the better.

Maitimo was still impossibly tall, but his Mother-name fit him poorly by now. His dark red hair was cut very short, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face and the disfiguring scars that were spread across. His right arm ended in a stump, and the grim look in his blazing eyes gave him the overall appearance of a vulture in elven form.

The Ambarussar had entered together with Kalanae and Nalarae, and their closeness made it obvious that they were the mysterious husbands the twins had often referred to. All four of them wore the same style of green scale armor, had their hair fastened by carved bone ornaments and their faces painted with similar patterns. It should not have surprised him that those two would assimilate so fully into another culture, having lived almost three times as long out of Valinor than they had grown up within.

Paradoxically, Makalaurë and Táranis had changed both the most and the least. He had seen both of them in armor during those last dark days in Valinor, after Alqualondë, and how they looked now bore little difference to then. It was still disconcerting to see the gentle musicians transformed into grim warriors, carrying their swords right next to harp and flute. They seemed calmer and fiercer in turn. Next to them stood the only one who was still unfamiliar, a young elf with dark brown hair and brown skin.

He must have stared more obviously than he thought he had, because next that he knew, Makalaurë had pushed the elf towards Arafinwë with a whispered ‘introduce yourself’. He stumbled into a perfect, if shallow bow and spoke with a soft voice.

“I am Erestor Maglorion. It is an honour to meet you, uncle.”

There were no more surprises that evening, and by the end of the meeting, Arafinwë had learned that their former secrecy had little to do with him, but a lot with the Iathrim, who had suffered most directly from the deeds of the sons of Fëanáro. This ban of silence that saw their names and good deeds all but erased from history had been one of the stipulations of the tense peace that had developed in the wake of Tyelperinquar’s marriage to Elwing.

 

* * *

 

The Valar began their assault on Angband once the fortress was entirely surrounded by the armies of elves, dwarves and humans. Lesser creations of Morgoth poured forth constantly, only to be slain by the soldiers. Mile by mile they advanced over Anfauglith, drawing the circle of their siege ever tighter. Great friendships developed in those decades between all elven kindred, and with the mortal peoples as well.

In what later turned out to be one last attempt to turn the tides, Morgoth send forth a great host of winged fire-breathing dragons against the assembled armies, and almost succeeded, if not for Eärendil, who had been sent forth with the eagles of Manwë, sailing across the sky in Vingilot. It was him who slew the great Ancalagon, scattering the assault for a much needed reprieve.

With him, the young half-elf brought a variety of bows and crossbows that had been forged in the halls of Aulë by Noldor and Maiar at his suggestion, to combat the armored beasts that were protected against the usual wooden models. The steelforged war bows had pulleys that amplified the force impacting the arrow, and special arrows made of hardened alloys, with narrow tips, to better pierce the almost impenetrable dragonhide. They were distributed among the most capable elven archers.

Victory followed none too soon. The power the Valar were expending to subdue their foe was breaking the continent apart below their feet. The greater part of their forces fled east, while the Maiar and a small number of dedicated elved scoured the ruins of Angband to capture Morgoth, destroy the remainder of their foul creations and free the thralls. It was there that the remaining two Silmarils were found, still set in the famous iron crown.

Worried faces turned towards the sons of Fëanor, fearful of the atrocities their oath may drive them to with their quarry so close at hand. There was indeed a fey light in their eyes as they beheld their father’s last great creation, but also sorrow and relief in equal measure. To the great surprise of those more recently arrived from Valinor, none of them tried to take one.

“Erestor should take one, and Elenae the other,” Maedhros suggested. While his brothers were just as supportive of the circumventing of both oath and doom by placing the Silmarils in the hands of innocent children, none of them wanted to claim a Silmaril for their child.

“I don’t want it, uncle. I’ve seen what this mad quest did to you in the end, and I want no part of it. Give it to Elrond and Elros, so that each of them may have one. They take such pure joy in the light,” Erestor said. Elenae, the young daughter of Amrod and Kalanae, refused also.

“Though I may keep it in trust until my next cousin is born, yes?” she conceded.

And so the First Age of the sun came to an end, as the Silmarils passed to the children of Elwing, and Beleriand sunk under the sea. The survivors reconvened in the lands that later came to be known as Eriador. It was there that the half-elven descendants of Lúthien and of Idril were given the choice to be counted among elves or humans. Of all of them, only Hirwen, daughter of Eärendil, chose the gift of men, for she had fought on their side most often during the War of Wrath, and admired their bravery and zest for life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Second Age begins, and Elwing thinks about her family.

Early in the Second Age, when the island of Númenor was raised from the sea for the Edain to live on, Hirwen became their queen, remembered by the name of Tar-Minyatur. Although of elvenkind, Elros became her husband and dwelled with her until she passed from the circles of the world. Of him, the history of men tells little, as was his wont, fading from mortal memories in favor of his queen.

The elves settled the east instead. At first, there was Lindon, west of the Ered Luin, where all survivors of the War of Wrath lived for a while. Many reunions were celebrated then, happy or otherwise, because there convened not only the refugees from the Havens of Sirion and the Isle of Balar, but also many Sindar that had fled east instead of south after the Dagor Bragollach and the Fall of Doriath, most notable among them Eöl the smith, who had in his charge his cousins, Eluréd and Elurín.

Elwing led her people east, where they established the realm of Eregion. From its capital Ost-in-Edhil, she ruled as High Queen of all elves in Middle-Earth with her consorts. With her went her elder brothers, who were quite content to leave all matters of state in her capable hands and instead assist her in areas where they felt more skilled. Also with them was Eöl, who had reconciled with his wife and son, and wished not to be parted from them again, and Elwing’s uncle Celeborn, who remained her most trusted advisor, with Galadriel, his wife.

To the south, in Minhiriath and further south along the coast, Gil-Galad founded a realm for all those of the Noldor who wished to remain east of the sea. The doom of the Noldor had been lifted, but few of them were in a hurry to return to Aman, least of all those who had not been born there. In his capital Falastirion, he was joined by Maglor and Táranis for a while, who later took to wandering between realms in an endeavour to encourage the peaceful relations between all peoples.

The twins Ambarussa faded into obscurity, wandering the wild woods with their wives and their people, the Nandor. Of all the notable Noldor that had lived in Beleriand, only Maedhros returned to Valinor with the host of the Valar, seeking healing in body and mind.

Those among the Sindar that disapproved of the proximity of the Noldor or the dwarves, Oropher led further east. There was Laurelindórinan, where some Teleri had lingered during the Great Journey instead of crossing the Misty Mountains, where Losalúr, the youngest sister of Elu Thingol ruled. On the other side of the Anduin was the Great Greenwood, which she granted to her nephew Oropher to oversee. South of the White Mountains that separated them from Gil-Galad’s realm, they founded Edhellond by the sea.

Those who stayed in Lindon by the shore were mostly Falathrim, with Círdan as their lord, as it had been before the first rise of the sun. Ships sailed up and down the coast from their capital Mithlond to the other elven harbors of Falastirion and Edhellond, carrying goods and messages back and forth.

The dwarven settlements in the Blue Mountains had been ruined by the War of Wrath, and their inhabitants went east to Khazad-dûm, where they merged with Durin’s folk. There later was great friendship between the dwarves of Khazad-dûm and their elven neighbors to both sides of the mountains, although there were some elves that could not forgive the part the dwarves had played in the fall of Doriath.

Humans were of little concern to the elves of that time. There were some scattered tribes that had never crossed the Blue Mountains, but none were too eager to treat or trade with them after the treachery at Nirnaeth Arnoediad and seeing Easterlings fight alongside orcs during the War of Wrath. All of them were driven east indiscriminately by the spreading elven realms.

To the far south and east, wandering elves reconnected with their original Avari kin, who had spread far from Cuiviénen since the Sundering. Peaceful centuries passed, and Middle-Earth prospered. Even contact with Valinor was restored via Numenor, although there were few who were willing to travel that far for a simple visit.

 

* * *

 

It had been strange at first for Elwing to live east of the Ered Luin. She had spent most of her, admittedly short, life by the shore of Belegaer and could barely remember Doriath. She was surprised at first to see that she missed the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs and the cries of the gulls, but those were soon replaced by the rustling of leaves and chirping songbirds.

A more pleasant surprise was the fact that there had been refugees from Doriath living on this side of the mountains since the murder of her great-grandfather Elu, among them even some survivors of the second Kinslaying that had fled east instead of south. They had helped her people settle when the first groups of refugees had arrived from Sirion, which Elwing was very grateful for. As little governance as the day-to-day dealings of an elven settlement needed, she was relieved that there had been someone to act as a mediator between settled families and more recent arrivals. Now their leader wanted to meet with her, probably to discuss further dealings.

She did not know what she had expected, some erudite former councillor of her great-grandfather’s perhaps, or some minor court official that had taken the chance to expand his influence. Instead, it was a muscular elf in sturdy tunics and trousers under a leather apron that reminded her of nothing as much as her husbands after a day in the forge. He had the same black hair and mahogany skin as herself, and was accompanied by a pair of young twins, still a bit gangly from their last growth spurt, in clothes of leather that reminded her of Kalanae and Nalarae. They even had similar dark silver hair.

“You would be the queen, then?” he asked. His tone was gruff, but not unfriendly, in the manner of one who was accustomed to talking like a craftsman rather than a diplomat.

“I am Elwing of Doriath, yes.”

Her response provoked a series of unexpected reactions. The black haired elf stared at her as if she had declared herself a deer with golden antlers, an even combination of disbelief and rapture. One of the twins was looking back and forth between her and his brother for a reason she could not discern, while the other regarded her as if she was a dream come true.

“I can see that,” he said finally. “I am Eöl of Nan Elmoth, and these are your brothers, Eluréd and Elurín. Welcome to Eriador, cousin.”

 

* * *

 

Eluréd and Elurín may have been her older brothers, but more often than not, she felt like the oldest of the three. The twins were ageing at the pace of elves, while Elwing had grown to maturity only slightly slower than a mortal woman. That had worried all around her greatly, most of all her uncle Celeborn, fearing that she would grow old and die as her grandparents had, until she had reached her thirtieth year, looking no older than she had at twenty.

The introduction of her sons had thrown all three of her newfound kin into a fit of outrage, calling her too young, and irresponsible, and much besides, until she explained that, although Elros and Elrond called her mother, she was actually their father, as they had been carried and born by her husband Lómion, mainly because of the same concerns they had voiced. That revelation had calmed her brothers, but driven Eöl to interrogate her relentlessly about him. Elwing believed he was investigating his suitability as her consort, until she heard Eöl’s last question.

“Is my son happy?”

 

* * *

 

Elwing did not sit idle while her husbands were away at war. In the hope of creating a new realm of elves instead of returning to the ruins of any old one, she sent scouting parties further east to find a suitable area to settle. The first structures of Ost-in-Edhil were built before her sons had reached their adult height. Eöl, Eluréd and Elurín she dragged almost bodily along with her, both because she valued their advice and because she was reluctant to be parted from family ever again.

 

* * *

 

A casual mention of Aredhel had seen to it that Elwing witnessed an elf being truly inebriated, as Eöl drank himself into a stupor while he chronicled his marriage in great detail.

“I should never have tried to restrict her to the forest,” he confided in what would probably be a whisper if he was not so drunk. “That was my biggest mistake. She was so beautiful in the starlight. Kind and fair, and too smart for a simple smith like me. I always wondered why she agreed to stay, and then to become my wife, but who am I to argue with such a treasure? I miss her.”

If he was conscious of his oversharing, he did not show it. Elwing learned more about the estrangement of Lómion’s parents than she had ever wished to know, and it awoke in her the fervent desire to help mend their relationship. She remembered a much too similar tale of regret from Aredhel, after all.

 

* * *

 

It was the dawn of a new Age, they said. Morgoth had been cast into the void, never to return. Beleriand was breaking apart, sinking into the sea. Effusive reunions and tearful partings drew out the final departure of the host of Valinor. Elwing was mostly glad that her family had returned unharmed. The internal struggles of the Noldor were none of her concern as long as they did not threaten the peace.

And what a peace it was! There were some who whispered that she had been seduced into marriage for that sole purpose, to make her people forget what the Noldor, and the followers of Fëanor in particular had done to her people, but Elwing knew better. She may be younger than both her husbands, but that did not make her naive. Their affections were true, and she knew that Celebrimbor’s hesitation had been sincere when talk of marriage came up. Part of that were his Noldorin sensibilities forbidding a threefold bond, but mostly he worried her connection to him may taint her. They had married for love and in spite of politics, not for them, although Elwing would not deny that she enjoyed the greater political consequences of this union. The malicious whispers were few, and thousandfold outweighed by the unity in which all elves would prosper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter for a while, at least as much as I can predict my writing muses. The next chapter(s) will deal with the whole Annatar-fiasco and neither Celebrimbor nor any of his buddies are ready to tell me how that played out in this 'verse.  
> (Also, I'm torn between people-not-being-idiots and plot conservation.)

**Author's Note:**

> I am [varaenthefallen](http://varaenthefallen.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, follow me for headcanons and pretty reblogs. My askbox is always open.


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